


Shipping It

by UniverseOnHerShoulders



Series: Prompt Fills [40]
Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Friendship, Gen, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-22
Updated: 2019-06-22
Packaged: 2020-05-16 09:57:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,434
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19315828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UniverseOnHerShoulders/pseuds/UniverseOnHerShoulders
Summary: The TARDIS feels the urge to meddle in the love lives of the Doctor’s companions… much to their considerable consternation.





	Shipping It

**Author's Note:**

> This is from a prompt, the specific wording of which I have now lost (sorry!) but essentially was:
> 
> _The TARDIS trying to get Yaz and Ryan together._

The first time it happens, neither of them are expecting it. 

Ryan and Yaz are minding their own business, exploring the TARDIS – as they’re inclined to do on what they think of as their ‘days off’ – when suddenly, the door to the room that they’re in vanishes.

One minute it’s there, plain to see, large and silver and distinctly spaceship-y; the next there’s just a blank stretch of wall. This might be immediately alarming for Ryan, had the room they’d been investigating not been laden with cake; as it is, it’s only a mild worry, since there’s far more important things to worry about – at least as far as Ryan’s concerned, anyway. He’s staring longingly at a nearby chocolate cake when Yaz lets out a little yelp to alert him to what’s happened, and as she immediately snaps into work mode and starts to pace up and down beside the wall, he helps himself to a slice of the cake and watches her. (He thinks the word ‘slice,’ but in the absence of knives, it’s really more of a handful.)

“Are you just going to sit there are eat cake?” Yaz asks crossly after several minutes of investigating the issue. “Or are you going to actually help? We could be stuck here for hours.” 

“There’ foo’,” Ryan points out helpfully. “An’ d’ink.” He indicates with his non-cake-y hand a tap on the wall. 

“Yeah, but we could be stuck for ages. What happens when you need a pee? Or when I do?” 

Ryan feels his cheeks burn, and swallows his mouthful. 

“Good point,” he mumbles. “Well, won’t the Doc know we’re here?” 

“Not unless she’s paying attention, and frankly, she probably isn’t. Why’s the TARDIS doing this, anyway?” 

“Dunno,” he shrugs, looking around the room. “This is all a bit weird, innit? Why give us loads of cake then take away the door? Are we meant to eat our way out, or something? Maybe we only get let out if we eat all the cakes.” 

“Ryan, I can’t eat eight cakes.” 

“I can,” he grins gleefully. “Or I can _try_.” 

“You’ll be sick!” Yaz protests at once, looking appalled. “And why would that be the key to any of this? The TARDIS is an intelligent ship; she’s not going to advocate for us having an eating contest. That’s just… not very Doctor-y.”

“The TARDIS and the Doctor are different though. Who knows what kind of weird things her ship is into.”

There’s a distant beeping, and then the lights die.

“Hey!” Yaz protests, and a minute later there’s a soft _click_ and a torch is shone into Ryan’s eyes. 

“Oi!” 

“Sorry. Thought you were further to the left.”

“Why do you even _have_ a torch on you?”

“Police officer. I’m prepared for anything.”

“Isn’t that the Scouts?”

“Shut up and give me some of that cake,” Yaz props her torch behind her ear and approaches, careful not to blind him again. “Is it any good?”

“ _Really_ good,” he enthuses, perching on the floor beside the food. “Want me to scoop you a bit out, or do you want to do it?”

“Are your hands clean?” Yaz wrinkles her nose. “Don’t answer that. Look, can I try a bit of yours?”

“Urm,” before he can finish protesting, Yaz has snagged some from his hand and put it in her mouth, and-

The lights switch back on, and the door reappears.

“What the hell?” he mumbles, frowning up at the ceiling. “This thing is  _weird_.”

“Gonna have to agree,” Yaz acquiesces. “Now, flee, or more cake?”

“More cake _while_ fleeing.”

“Plan.”

 

* * *

 

The second time it happens, Yaz is messaging Ryan on WhatsApp from the comfort of her – she thinks of it as ‘hers’, anyway – bedroom on the TARDIS. She’s curled up in bed underneath a fluffy blanket, and she’s thinking about booting up Space Netflix, and she’s just asked Ryan’s opinion on the new season of _Orange Is The New Black_ when there’s a _pop_ and Ryan appears on her bed.

This would be alarming enough, except Ryan is only wearing his pants.

“What the…” he rolls over, sees Yaz, and lets out a yelp so loud that Yaz is reasonably sure that people on Earth can hear it, before falling off the bed and taking the blanket with him. “What’s going on?!”

“I really don’t know,” she grimaces. “I really didn’t need to see that much of you.” 

“Excuse me,” he huffs from the floor. “I’m a toned and fine specimen of a human being."

“Yes, but those are very tight pants.”

“Oi! These are the best Calvon Klains that the bloke at the market had to offer. Don’t be rude about them.” 

“Ryan, you’re basically my brother. Don’t make this weird.”

There’s another _pop_ and Ryan reappears on her bed.

“ _Stop doing that_!” he bellows at the ceiling, wrapping the duvet around himself for modesty, and Yaz feels her cheeks turn maroon.

“Why are you even in your pants?” she asks faintly, willing the colour to drain from her cheeks.

“Well, what do _you_ sleep in?” he asks crossly. “Joggers and a hoodie?” 

“Fair point,” she acquiesces, then gets out of bed and retrieves her dressing gown. Chucking it at Ryan, she mumbles: “Look, put that on, and tell me what you think of my Netflix list, alright?”

 

* * *

 

After the third and fourth times – involving a bath, a lost towel, several hundred roses, and a hayfever attack – they both catch on. They’re not sure at first whether it’s the Doctor’s idea or the TARDIS’s, before a thorough consideration of the facts reminds them that the Doctor isn’t the sort of person to make her companions appear and reappear at will, particularly not for the sake of encouraging them to fall in love. (Or have sex. They’re not entirely sure which the ship intends; neither of them want to consider its intentions too deeply.) 

They wonder idly if they should tell the Doctor, but she seems to have about as much control over the TARDIS as a passenger has over a runaway train, so instead they merely grit their teeth and resolve to make the best of things. They enjoy the expensive champagne and steak that they stumble upon one evening while hunting for biscuits. They get used to wearing extra clothes, just on the off-chance any of them should vanish. And they don’t protest when they find themselves appearing and disappearing at will, although it makes getting around the ship infinitely more difficult. 

It becomes a sort of in-joke between them, to see what the TARDIS will attempt next, but upon waking up beside Yaz for the tenth time, still mercifully dressed in his recently-acquired full-length pyjamas, Ryan decides to take matters into his own hands.

He gets out of bed as silently as he is able, cursing his dyspraxia as he bumps into Yaz’s desk and she stirs in her sleep. He waits until she’s fallen back into slumber before opening the door and heading out into the corridor, padding on silent feet towards the console room.

“Look,” he says aloud as he enters the now-familiar space. “This ain't funny.”

There’s a muted beeping from the console that seems to indicate the time machine thinks quite the contrary.

“I love Yaz, very much. But she’s like my sister. And she thinks of me as like her brother. You need to pack it in.”

There’s a disappointed burble, and he sits down beside the console, placing a hand gently against the interface. 

“And you need to know that like… I’m not interested in people like that. I don’t really feel love for people in a romantic way, and sex is just… not my style. Might be the dyspraxia’s fault – I could end up taking someone’s eye out – but it’s just not for me, alright? Yaz is my friend. My good friend. But that’s all we’re going to be.” 

There’s a disappointed noise, somewhat akin to a sigh, and then silence falls. 

“Thank you,” Ryan whispers. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

 

* * *

 

There’s a knock on Ryan’s bedroom door two night later, and he sits up in bed, reaching for the t-shirt he’s stashed under his pillow and pulling it on.

“Yeah?” he calls, and the door opens to reveal Yaz, dressed in a fluffy bathrobe and looking somewhat sheepish.

“I got bored,” she explains. “Can I come in and we can finish watching _Queer Eye_?”

“Oh,” Ryan grins. “Sure. Did you bring snacks?”

Yaz produces a packet of Jaffa Cakes from nowhere, and he beams.

“Excellent,” he pats the bed beside him. “Get comfy.”


End file.
